


The Auspice Alliance

by PluribusUnum



Category: Lucantia
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PluribusUnum/pseuds/PluribusUnum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young fae's home is left in shambles, and a new world is immediately thrust towards him without warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "The Libretto Unfolds"

There are only three things that are both vital and unforgiving in this world- conflict, tragedy, and fire. Conflict and tragedy make lessons and leave scars. Fire will do the same, but it also makes and takes life. One is never certain which path the embers seek to follow. After all, giving someone a flame will keep them warm for an hour, but setting someone aflame will keep them warm for the rest of their life.

  
Unfortunately, conflict, tragedy, and fire aren't always separated from one another.

  
By the time he could clear his head, there were only ashes of what used to be Arden's home; his home. The world he once grew up in was a black stain on the map of Lucantia. His pale body, covered in sweat and full of ingrained anxiety, was pulsing from the muscular spasms of his high-strung and frantic dash from the flaming mass of his haven. He didn't even remember flopping into the dusty dirt of the clearing, nor did he remember feeling such a morbid compulsion to flee in his entire life.

  
As he began moving his frail arms, he noticed that his limbs were still trembling from the mad sprint. He bit his lip and swallowed with nervousness, realizing that his adrenaline flow wasn't going to quit just yet. Since it was early in the morning he hadn't eaten anything, and whenever the rush settled he'd have no place left for food or shelter. Arden's face looked down back into the dirt in somber silence.

  
He lifted his head again, scouting the area with the little vision he had from his perspective. He couldn't see anyone or anything; a blessing to him. Unfortunately, though, he didn't see anyone he knew in the clearing with him. He let out a pained, exasperated sigh in protest, as though it would do something to fix the problem.

  
With that, the silence immediately broke. Instead of the quiet returning, he felt thunderous shaking and the cacophony of crunching leaves close by. He knew what that sound was, he knew what it meant, and he knew that he was in big trouble. His body jerked up from its position in the dirt and his legs, somehow reignited with terror, pushed him forward into thicker foliage.

  
He began to shiver from the morning mist that hung on the grass. Since he'd been laying down, his copper mop clung to his freckled face and framed his fearful expression. He knew he couldn't stay in one place too long. The monsters that towered over him in these woods were known to kidnap his kind, and never once did the victim return. They were smart, too, so camping in heights was not a wise choice.

  
For that reason, and because his village was gone, Arden had limited options. Since the embers from the fire were new and likely still hot, he couldn't go back into the brambles that surrounded his home of Kellyngrad. And he couldn't go all the way through the clearing either, since that would make him an easy target. The situation forced him, then, to stay on the border, which was a risky move.

  
He heard the loud crunching again, this time from in front of him, and immediately ducked down into the grass even further than before. His lean body curled to avoid view from the beasts that loomed overhead, and inside his mind, he could hear a subconscious muttering to run. But psyche fell to physical, and he remained stationary as the footsteps approached.

  
"I swear to you, I heard him," the storm voice boomed. Arden did not dare to move, not even to look up.

  
"I know, I know, shut up!" a second called, as though vexed. "I saw him flying through the glen!"

  
"Flying?" shouted the first. "Actually flying?"

  
"Are you deaf? Did I stutter? Yes, actually flying!"

  
"Great, our bounty flies now?"

  
Arden continued listening to the conversation. The creatures had to be over twenty times his height, and their dark clothes and strange netting equipment signified their intent to catch him as soon as possible. But because they acted so clueless, Arden's fear began to subside a bit, and before long the hilarity of the situation was becoming hard to ignore.

  
He stifled a unexpected giggle and dove back into the depths of fear again.

  
Arden's hope that no one had heard him was dashed as shadows accompanied the sound of the creatures' footsteps. He froze up completely, his blood running about as cold as the shade that fell over him.

  
"Well, well, what have we here?" the thundering creature said as he leaned down. "It's about time we found one of you alive- all the others we found are as good as dead."

  
Arden's heart sank even lower, if that was possible. His head dropped as his eyes squeezed shut and salty tears tried to force themselves out. "Good as dead" to him was the same as "too late." He gulped hard and shakily reached to the side of his green and patchy tunic, where a short dagger lay concealed; he wasn't completely unprepared to go out fighting.

  
One of the creatures reached down with a large hand and grabbed the poor boy, who hid enough space near his hands for a quickly-generated scheme.  
"He can't understand us, anyway. He's just a stupid Gossam."

  
Arden forced himself to breathe deeply, his mind screaming at him to struggle as it gave him reminders of what befell those who got caught. He had to relax; he knew that if he didn't calm down, the hunters would win and he'd end up like his neighbors.

  
He deeply inhaled, the pit of his stomach begging for him not to do anything rash, and cleared his throat.

  
"Ya know," he yelled, his voice shrill-sounding enough to the hunters to catch their attention, "I really think ya underestimate the woods." He groaned and jerked his body, allowing for his back to be given space. "By the way, I can understand ya."

  
As the second hunter, a brutish blonde man with steel armor, came closer, the first spoke back. "Isn't this interesting? Emperor Ferrick would be more than pleased if I brought back someone more knowledgeable than average. What do you think, Kelvyn?"

  
The second spoke, and this time Arden noticed that his pitch was a bit higher. "I agree. Our price could be greater than what we already have. By this rate, we could remain undrafted for a few years or so. At least, until the war effort is staved a bit."

  
The first turned back to Arden and sighed. "Funny that we won't get to keep our hands on you for long, little fae."

  
Arden grumbled at the word. "Fae? Okay, first off, ya talk about your plans right in front of me. Second off, that's an empty threat disguised as a sick comment." He wriggled around, his wings unfolding awkwardly from his back and resting against the man's fingers in a lopsided sort of way. "And third off," he yelled, forcing the dagger to poke the hunter's palm, "Quit usin' such crude words!"

  
Arden yelped a bit as the man reacted accordingly and let him go. The fae used the opportunity to unfold his wings completely and glide forward and away from the giants.  
Of course, that didn't stop the second bounty hunter, Kelvyn, from using his bug net to get him.

  
The Gossam lad became entangled in the netting, and the pressure it bore upon his fragile gossamer wings caused the flight appendages to tear and be rendered useless. Arden felt a pain shooting through his back as he struggled and screamed, which despite how high it sounded to the hunter, only took a fraction of a second to get used to.  
Arden began taking his slightly bloodstained dagger to the netting, but the thick material was too stiff for the blade to cut. The strands pressed into his legs and made them feel as though they were slowly being torn into. And yet, he knew that the net had no way of drawing blood.

  
Just as quickly has he'd been caught, his minute form was unceremoniously shoved head-first into a bottle made of green, distorted glass. The walls disoriented his vision and elongated any visible features of the men who imprisoned him, and his state of terror was great enough that he had no room for any sort of coherent thought without panic. He forced his eyes shut to keep the nightmare from taking him under.

  
Arden curled into a fetal position as his bumpy ride stilled and darkness fell over him. His body shook violently and his green eyes watered in terror of what fate was to become of him. "Calm down," he whispered to himself. "Calm down, calm-"

  
His body was shifted with the glass bottle and his face hit the wall, rendering him unconscious.

\------------

Kelvyn and Claudio headed towards the city, their wares and findings in tow for the Emperor to see. Claudio took a jovial position at the front of the horse-drawn cart, and Kelvyn sat at the flank, a bottle of rum in his clenched fist. He looked into the dark of the night, swearing he'd heard a noise, but his head hung submissively, no longer caring.  
Claudio whipped his head back. "Are ya sober enough to take care of these horses up 'ere?"

  
Kelvyn did not speak- his mind was far from his physicality. His blue hues reflected the darkness that trailed behind them, just as they always did when he got this way.  
Claudio haphazardly wrestled his way towards the back of the cart after stopping the black steeds pace. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"  
Kelvyn grumbled. "Shut up."

  
"We're going to get what we want, Kelvyn. You'll get your daughter back, I'll escape military service, and we'll live happily again. Just like it was before the Blood Crusade." Claudio sat down and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You can't be getting drunk like this, you'll only think of the worst."

  
Kelvyn gulped and sobbed. "Easy for you to say, you didn't lose a kid!" He clenched his other fist and swung clumsily at his comrade. "You're not even married! So how do you figure that I'm just gonna live happily ever after?"

  
Claudio almost spoke, but pursed his lips and tilted back instead.

  
"If you think that the Emperor is just going to leave you alone, you're sorely mistaken," Kelvyn muttered. "Only a fool would believe in such a happy ending."

  
"Well... don't you?" Claudio asked.

  
Kelvyn sighed. "I used to, but after all of this, I don't think that's worth the obedience."

  
Claudio looked away. "The fearful hound is a loyal hound. Doing something rash is going to get you in more trouble. Just... think on that."

  
As his comrade returned to the reigns, Kelvyn looked back to the rocky trail that lay before him, painting out from under the cart. His grasp on the rum bottle loosened as his eyes glazed. He was far too deep in thought to hear the glass break and leak into the dusty dirt, and his mind was caught in one looping sentence.

  
_The fearful hound is a loyal hound._

  
His focus shifted to a bag beside him, and his hand absentmindedly rummaged around until it grasped the neck of another bottle. He was ready to drown as he pulled it close to his chest and reached for the cork with his free hand.

  
His fingers paused above the stopper, a stray thought slipping from the cracks of his drunken miasma.

  
_A kicked dog will bite back._

  
He looked at the bottle, noticing the tinted, distorted glass. His thoughts repeated the sentence again.

  
_A kicked dog WILL bite back._

  
He remembered the fear he'd seen on the fae's face earlier that day. It was a terror not dissimilar to the one he was covering with silence and swill and possibly empty promises to himself.

  
He gazed at his wrist, where a rustic word was written: Dierfa.

  
He looked back to the green container again and, biting his lip, tossed it into the brush along the side of the road. He heard no cracking sound, no shatter- just the slight swish of thicket leaves enveloping the bottle.

  
His closed his eyes, leaning forward and breathing steadily as he accepted what would become of him biting back.


	2. "On the Winds of Curiosity"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As our fae friend figures out where he is, a thief makes a fateful trade with an old friend while his cat becomes curious of his transactions.

Arden woke to the sound of feet shuffling quietly in the distance. His head felt bludgeoned, and the ache that accompanied it was gratuitous and a more-than-worthy cause of irritability. In his frustration, he almost forgot the events that had transpired before he’d fallen prey to a swift sleep.

 

He knocked furiously on the glass, unable to see what was outside from behind the emerald distortion as he listened to the muffled speaking outside of his containment. He heard a lower voice, with words incomprehensibly blotted together, sounding urgent and audacious. The fae knew better than to just sit idle, forcing his body against the walls as he tried to rock the bottle back and forth.

 

In a swift motion, the nearby figure he assumed to have been shouting advanced, placing a long-fingered hand against the bottle and pushing it further back before securing it by surrounding it with objects. Arden’s breathing had quickly hastened, and he found himself gasping in a newfound terror of inescapable circumstance. He didn’t try to ram the walls again, though- he just sat down in passive silence.

 

\------------

 

A short distance away from the bazaar, a crowd of guards began their frenzied search, pushing through crowds of unwary pedestrians as they scanned through a great number of windows, doors, and any open-air passages they could afford time for. The metal clang of their feet created plenty of warning for their target, as the cacophony not only could be heard for a fair distance, but most dames and small children responded to the shoving with some sort of loud noise. Their heads were tilted upwards, indicating that their target had climbed onto a roof to avoid a melee-range pursuit- something rather clever considering the armaments of the soldiers.

 

Of course, it was only a matter of time before they caught up with their pursuited citizen and managed to keep him stranded on a tower roof. The common folk of the neighborhood stood idle with mouths agape in awe as dozens of soldiers poured into the interior of the tower in hopes of meeting the man at the top. Some of the pedestrians who’d followed the crowd towards this flocking began to spread word about what sort of trouble he’d gotten into.

 

The man stood at the top of the tower, watching as the guards emptied from the square and into his perch. A tailwind swept his black hair forward, forcing him to remove his spectacles and adjust his locks away from his glinting eyes. He moved towards the edge of the tower, listening as the people below began to raise their voices in concern.

 

A wobble from his legs made him wonder if this was such a grand idea. Well, at least it seemed fun at the time, he reasoned.

 

He heard the guards pounding up the stairs and into the tower’s interior top, watching as they haphazardly poked their blades against the heavy metal covering he stood upon. They were leaving dents, which indicated they’d eventually cut through.

 

The pursued man nodded and leapt, and he forced himself to focus on his surroundings as he took a moment to concentrate on the wind. Breathe, he reminded himself, don’t forget to breathe.

 

With a sharp kicking motion he propelled forward and out of the square at a reasonably higher speed, leaving the guards to trace him only by his trajectory. By their logic, he was headed to the central part of town- back in the direction where they’d come from.

 

The man touched down quickly and continued his late morning run, now at ease with his distance from law enforcement. He circled around the corner and smiled at the nearest gentleman, taking off his coat and pulling it over the lad’s head before running towards the market.

 

He had no intention of staying seen. He just had to get back before anything worse happened.

 

Out of nowhere, a sharp pain struck him in his chest, knocking him to the ground with a loud grunt.

 

“You arrived just in time, Mikky-boy.”

 

God dammit, the gentleman thought. “I thought I’d seen the last of you with your little renegade with my cat, you codger.”

 

His assailant took the crook of his cane and hooked it beneath his neck before stiffly pulling him upright. “Now, Mikky, nobody sees the last of me. They just see… less of me.” The mannequin-like arm of the man, a Salesman, began pulling the lad into his wheelless caravan, almost in a showy manner. “Though, many people see the first of me. Then of course there’s the rare exception of people who-”

 

“Now, I remember why I left you in your damn tower,” the gentleman replied. “If there was a day in my life when it was quiet, it was because you weren’t around. Speaking of quiet, what in the name of Ganim have you been doing here?”

 

“What I always do- getting to know the locals, selling my wares… I see you are adjusting just fine, using the local lingo,” the Salesman jabbed.

 

“It’s been thirty years,” the man replied.

 

“Took you long enough to get your big boy pants,” the Salesman retorted.

 

The gentleman grimaced, his eyes flicking around at the caravan walls, which seemed to be littered with various artifacts, stones and odd paraphernalia. “I’m lucky to be alive, no thanks to you and your stunt with my poor feline friend. You hit him right in the eye.”

 

“If you consider being alive to be attributed to luck, then I’d have to say it’s bad luck. I mean, just look at me! I’m alive. Well, relatively speaking, at least,” the Salesman said. One of his eyes snuck a peek at a bottle he’d been keeping tabs on all day before snapping back into place. “And as for your little furball, I suggest, you keep it from clawing around my shop like it’s its own scratching post. I don’t need anything expensive breaking or falling off a shelf.”

 

The gentleman’s legs felt weak for a split second, and he reached for a wall to lean on to quickly cover it up. “At least I’m not dead like some of them out there. Have you seen the likes of such a plague? It just… consumes.” He bit his lip as the pain in his knees subsided.

 

The Salesman glanced downward before locking his gaze again. “This is why I never advise going further than your local grocery store. You’ll never know what bugs you’ll catch. Especially strange bugs with appendages, and-”

 

“Like, say, the thing in that bottle there?” the gentleman distractedly asked. “I thought you told me that you didn’t keep live wares.”

 

“Live? Well then, I need to get at least one of my eyes fixed. Could’ve sworn it was dead- I was about to pickle it.”

 

“Don’t think I didn’t see you taking a glance at it. I’m part of your circle, remember? We don’t miss things that easily. Where did you get it?”

 

“I found it,” the Salesman smirked.

 

“Don’t we all…” The gentleman rolled his eyes. “Listen, you do know what happened the last time a live ware was found in the Spire, don’t you?”

 

“I don’t seem to recall what you’re talking about,” the Salesman replied, tapping his hollow skull with a wooden finger. “I’m old, and for all I know I’m demented as hell. I mean, I swore I heard termites the other day nearby…”

 

The gentleman became irked and came closer, but felt a hissing noise and a warmth hit his face, and he was forced to stand back. “Don’t play that game with me again. We had to call in reinforcements. We had to get that monstrosity contained. I wouldn’t surprised if…” he trailed off, realizing he was become tangential. “Okay, I don’t have time to play around with your droll speeches, so if you don’t mind, I’ll take that off your hands.”

 

“Now now, Mikael, you know it doesn’t work that way.”

 

Mikael stared at him, ticked.

 

“It’s bad for business.”

 

“Then name what you want to trade it for before I get caught. The guards are going to find me eventually,” Mik replied.

 

“Well, you could always use money. It hasn’t stopped existing, you know.”

 

“If I spend anymore than I already have, my brother would wonder where it’s going and, well, you know how he takes to your kind about certain matters…” He took the bottle off the shelf. “Anything else I could trade for it?”

 

“Don’t get me started on your short, mangy, knuckle-dragging, primitive-” The Salesman grunted and growled and turned in a complete circle before regaining his composure. “Well, you could always give-”

 

“I can’t give you the key.”

 

“Then I can’t give you the bottle.”

 

“Then I can’t give you my latest finding,” Mik retorted, grinning.

 

“You cheeky bastard… I’m so proud!” the Salesman chimed.

 

From within his pocket, Mikael withdrew a small shiny square of metal. “I can assure you, this is worth every second of trouble I got myself into.” He held it in front of the Salesman’s gaze. “I should say though, until the right time, nobody know what purpose it holds. But considering the amount of security surrounding it, it must be important…”

 

It was plucked from his grasp swiftly. “Deal!” the Salesman said, eyeing it closely and grinning almost ear to ear. “You know, I do know of one broken heart who would love to dissect this handiwork…”

 

“I’m certain she’d love that,” Mikael replied, walking towards the front of the caravan and out into the daylight. “Tell her I send my best regards with that.”

 

“I’ll give her the usual greeting card.”

 

Mikael leaned back into the doorway. “Extra roses?”

 

“And chocolate.”

 

“Chocolate doesn’t do well in water. Especially salted ones.”

 

“Fine, I’ll give her saltwater taffy, what do you want from me?” the Salesman raged.

 

“I want you to tell her that I found it.”

 

The Salesman rolled his eyes, which bobbled slightly in his skull before steadying. “Why would I do that?”

 

“I think you know why.” Mik stared at him in patience, relishing the silence a bit as he waited for a response.

 

“Fine, fine… whatever. But don’t think I’m doing anything extra for you, boy; I’m already doing you plenty selling you that bottle and I won’t get myself in any deeper with whatever reckless… thing you’re doing.” He pocketed his newfound trinket and muttered to himself. “The first time he asks for credit, the next he’s driving the caravan off a cliff.”

 

“Is that a request?” Mik retorted.

 

The Salesman stared and raised an eyebrow. “Get out of here. Your crowd of adoring fans is waiting for you, I’m sure.”

 

Mikael rolled his eyes. “Til next time,” he chuckled.

 

The Salesman muttered at a volume slightly too loud for himself, but quiet enough for the finality of it. “...Good luck.”

 

\------------------------------

 

Tarrant’s ears twitched as his sat silently on the velvety lounge seat, his tail flicking back and forth in earnest thought. His mind did not wander, though, as it normally would for a feline; his was built and trained with sturdy persistence on his tasks. As he remained perched in his position, he maintained a modest grin- a common sight for him.

 

Of course, he’d forgotten to get out of what he normally wore for sleepwear, since he’d not left the hideaway he was gladly stationed at. Despite his catlike motions, he physically appeared to be a young man with feline features, most noticeably his brown and expressive ears, which seemed to be indicating that he was focused on something and fixated. His bed clothes were that of a minimalistic plum-colored silk tunic and a pair of baggy brown trousers which seemed to be covered in dust from the floor.

 

Tarrant’s ear’s stilled further than they’d been already, and the pupil of his uncovered eye contracted. His breath hitched a bit as he his stare broke, and he abruptly slumped and held his head in his hands.

 

“God, that was exhausting…” he muttered to himself, looking to the door. He knew why he’d let go of his focus so quickly.

 

As he began to lift his head up again, Mikael walked through the door, looking exhausted and sweating. Tarrant took the most notice to the gentleman’s knees, which shook violently and looked about ready to give. He reached over to the side of the couch and grabbed a short, wooden cane before tossing it to the black-haired man.

 

“Successful?” Tarrant asked quietly.

 

“Yes, I suppose. You could say that it’s in good hands.”

 

Tarrant stood up. “But I thought that you were going to keep it. Why’d you give it to him?” he asked, a bit confused.

 

“He and I have had our times, and I figured that if it were in his hand, the Emperor would never find it.”

 

Tarrant raised a hand and touched the eyepatch covering his left eye. “Is there any way he could fix this… thing with me?” he asked.

 

“The void is a very finicky thing, Tarrant,” Mikael replied, hobbling over and sitting down on the lounge with him. “But you’re faring well- I don’t see why it’s such a problem.”

 

Tarrant looked away from Mik’s gaze. “I don’t like it, it’s starting to affect me. I’m feeling more animalistic than I normally would be.” His green eye blinked heavily, squeezing shut as he clear his head of the fuzzy feeling he’d had earlier.

 

“Just a little longer, then you’ll be ready…” Mikael reassured, adjusting his gold frames again.

 

Tarrant scooted away from his comrade on the lounge, his tail ceasing to flick back and forth as the gross feeling in the pit of his stomach became more and more apparent. He knew that Mikael couldn’t walk very well, but when it came to what he could do about the matter, especially in regards to his talents, he felt as though he wasn’t getting enough out of his own life. Tarrant looked at Mik’s knees again. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” he asked.

 

Mikael looked at him. “It’s not that bad.”

 

“You think? I remember you climbing up that tower. You kept tripping the stairs. Don’t lie to me, it’s getting worse, isn’t it?” the feline boy replied.

 

Mik’s face grew stern.

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

The gentleman broke his gaze. “Well maybe if you could come up with something quicker to fix this,” he muttered.

 

Tarrant got up. “Don’t put this on me, Mik. You’re the one who keeps going out there and risking getting caught. It’s impossible for me to think straight when I’m putting my mind towards your movement.”

 

Mikael stood and stared at him, his slim figure overshadowing the poor boy. “Are you implying something, Tarrant?” he hissed.

 

Tarrant’s ears folded back. “I… What I’m saying is that I can’t work while you’re away, that’s all…” he murmured.

 

Mik gave him a downward glance and sighed. “What does it matter to you?”

 

Tarrant’s ears twitched forward again and his gaze met with his comrade’s. “I think you know why it matters. I don’t have to explain myself. But you already know that, too, don’t you?”

 

Mik’s gaze did not waver. “It’s none of your business as to my welfare.” He began to turn away.

 

Tarrant grabbed his shoulder, which was responded to with a quick smack of Mik’s cane to the left side of his head.

 

“It’s not your business, dammit!” Mik snarled, staring as Tarrant took a position on the floor. “I don’t see why it’s of any benefit to you, so it’s not worth the discussion.”

 

“It is!” Tarrant gulped, and he held his hand to his head as his eyes watered from the pain. “It’s worth the discussion because I care about you.”

 

“Ha! Care?” Mik replied. “My legs kept giving today, what was that?”

 

“Well damn, if you wanted somebody perfect you should have just done it yourself. You know, since you’re so brilliant about that,” Tarrant replied.

 

Mik’s eyes became a little more dead, and his shoulders slumped. “...You’re right…”

 

Tarrant looked in shock at him, and then himself, and then him again. “Mik, I-”

 

“No, no. don’t apologize. I’m just being an idiot again.”

 

“Fuck, Mik, I didn’t mean to go so far,” Tarrant explained.

 

“... Please don’t say that sort of thing to me again, though; it hurts when you do that.”

 

Tarrant sighed. “Okay.” He sat Mikael down and grabbed his ankle before pulling his shoes and socks off, and rolling up his tan trousers. “Let’s have a looksee.”

 

Mik’s legs were covered from toe to knee in small, violet veins. From what Tarrant could tell, there was less color around that area, and so he instructed his comrade to lie down with his legs elevated.

 

Mik sighed. “What exactly are you going to do this time? Another injection?”

 

Tarrant could be heard rummaging around in the kitchen area. “Sort of. Not exactly, but close,” he replied.

 

Mik reached over to the bottle he’d brought home and squinted. Whatever creature was in there was moving around erratically now. With a pop, he opened the neck of the bottle and glimpsed inside, and a grin slowly spread across his face as he quietly thought to himself.

 

“Tarrant, do you mind if I experiment with something?” he called.

 

“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tarrant replied. “That’s not how medicine works.”

 

“Are you sure? I’ve brought something back from-”

 

“Yeah I know, the bottle, I was practically there,” Tarrant interrupted. “What’s inside it, anyway?”

 

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise,” he replied.

 

Tarrant rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, while you’re having fun fantasizing about the contents of a bottle, I have an acupunctural fluid prepared.”

 

“Aww, acupuncture again? I can never move while you’re doing that,” Mik jested. “Seriously though, you should take me up on my offer, I have a hunch.”

 

“What is that offer exactly?” Tarrant asked.

 

“I think whatever is in the bottle might be able to make the medicine better,” Mik remarked.

Tarrant had his doubts. “How do you know it’ll work if you’ve never seen what’s inside.”

 

“...I have a hunch.”

 

“Fine.”

 

So, after applying a strange dust to Tarrant’s medicine, the feline performed his procedure and before a good twenty minutes had passed, Mikael was up on his feet without a crutch of any kind. Before Tarrant could ask any more questions, the gentleman informed the lad that he needed to be somewhere again, and told Tarrant to take things a little easy that night. The bottle had been towed somewhere in the kitchen, and Tarrant did his best to put it from his mind.

 

Tarrant’s world was soon swallowed back into the silence he was used to, and he laid down on the couch, deciding it would be best to check up on other members of the city. Reaching for his eyepatch, he muttered incomprehensibly under his breath as he dove into the world of the citizen’s view. He opened his cloaked eye, a blurred, violet hue that dilated from his focus.

 

His mind let go of his inhibitions, and he pawed his comfortable spot.

  
But just before he could lose himself in his hobby, his ears perked, and his thoughts snapped back into place as he caught a short, sharp sound of shattering glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably put this out there, but Arthur co-wrote this with me, I give him credit for The Salesman.
> 
> I do not condone Mik's behaviour towards Tarrant, I only portray it. Internet censorship is not the answer.
> 
> It's a bit late, but I did my best. And that's all that matters.


	3. Game, Set, Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Tarrant searches for the source of the noise, Mikael has a rendezvous in the woods with an old flame.

The moment Arden gave up would be the day he died. There had been no reason before yesterday that he had to escape, but as he laid on the floor with gashes from the glass that was strewn asunder upon impact with the dirt floor, even escape was sounding like a dream too far away to reach. His body ached, both from lack of food as well as a lack of energy and the abrupt battering he'd given himself as he had moved his glass prison from the shelf, and he clearly felt a sense of terror knowing that his lack of mobility would leave him prey to the unknown.

Of course, he was in a kitchen. Despite the large scale of everything, that much was perfectly clear to him, although from his perspective, scaling such things would be like scaling a small cliffside; dangerous and painstaking. He had no energy for the dangerous and painstaking.

However, from a small distance away, a furry creature snuffled along as though it were in search of food. It rapidly moved towards the poor Gossam, and before long, Arden's unrest got the best of him and he stood with a panic before his fear turned to irritation.

"Shoo, shoo!" he scolded with his native tongue. "Git outta here! I don't need somethin' bitin' at my ankles."

A slow creek rumbled in the distance behind him, and his gaze snapped in the direction of the noise. His impulse told him to run, and though his curiosity had gotten the better of him the day before, he was by no means willing to try that again, and he followed his gut around the corner of the island counter of the room.

"Hello?" a voice boomed.

Shit, shit, shit.... Arden thought. I knew watching the Galvans would lead me to this kind of crap...  
"Listen, if you're a ghost, I need to you get out. My Master wouldn't approve of you clanging any of his findings together," the voice continued nervously.

Arden was confused. Ghost? he wondered earnestly.

"What's this?"

Arden bit his lip and ran around the counter, trying to keep out of sight as the shadow of the person came looming over the broken glass of his former container.

"Oh, no... Mik's gonna kill me..." the cat-eared young man muttered. He seemed disheartened, almost... afraid.

Arden wasn't sure what to do with the guy. He seemed pretty docile, but by the same token, he sported a few feline features that make him shudder. He'd heard the stories about rescue teams falling to stray cats that wandered into the glen, and what kind of torture awaited anything caught in the grip of one.

He jerked his wings open, surprised that the pain from his earlier ailment was dulling faster than he had expected. Carefully thinking for a way to get himself out of the place, he kicked off the ground and glided out of the kitchen and into the hall, towards an open room with a few decently decorated lounge seats.

He knew he wasn't alone know, but as he searched for a reliable exit, his findings became barren, and he could hear the young man bounding out of the room fast.

Arden, doing the only thing he could quickly think of, darted behind a pillow on one of the lounges.

 

Perhaps what Tarrant saw was a hallucination. He certainly wasn't surprised, since he'd been wondering if his recent medicines had been affecting his perception in any way. Well, if he had any extra things in his peripherals, or even in his primary focus, he would have likely considered it a benefit to his work. Well, so long as the voices weren't too rash.

Then again, his mind could have also been caught among those that mucked around in the city near their base. It wasn't an uncommon thing after all. His gift of manipulation had been used enough that using their eyesight to spy around was no hard task anymore, let alone hearing them speak. If there was a bar fight or a squabble over a rare sale, Tarrant had the means to listen in.  
Tarrant wasn't one to let go of reality so easily, though, as his thoughts often did stray back to the "what-ifs". What if the flying thing he saw was real? What if it could hear him? What if it were really close by?

These questions were thoughts that were left to mull over in the Malkin's mind as he lay back on the lounge, his head pressing against the small soft pillow in an attempt to cozy himself. He didn't even hear the small "oof" sound that the pillow gave off.

At least not for a few seconds, after which the pillow began to scream in irritation.  
Tarrant jolted upright at stared at the pillow, his ears folding back and his lip quivering. "Who goes there?"

The pillow yelled at him. "Don't fuckin’ lay on me, you idiot!" it screeched, irate and riddled with a put-out mood. "I'm fragile!"

"Well, I know that. You do look lovely," Tarrant replied, wondering if his homemade medicine was unreliable after all.

"Can it," the pillow piped.

"Why is your voice so quiet?" Tarrant asked confusedly.

"Why are ya so damn loud?" the pillow inquired back.

"Oh, sorry..." Tarrant answered, his head lowering with his volume. "I-Is this better?"

"… Much," the pillow flatly snarked. "Listen, I don't belong here."

"Well, you match the lounge quite well, I don't think you need to be so harsh on yourself..." Tarrant said.

The pillow went silent.

"H-Hello?" Tarrant asked, worried that he'd hurt the pillow's feelings.

"I do not match this lounge! Whadd’ya think I am, kid, a casual throw?" the annoyed pillow asked.

"You're not a throw? If you aren't a throw pillow, then what are you?"

The pillow didn't say anything.

"Um, hello? Answer me?" Tarrant said, becoming annoyed himself.

The pillow did not speak.

Tarrant laid back down on the pillow abruptly, but instead of getting a noise out of it, a small humanoid figure came flying out from under the pillow and landed on the floor. Tarrant's ears perked as he realized he'd been japed but simultaneously was interested in the small creature he'd came into contact with.

Tarrant smiled, his glare appearing less innocent as his pupils dilated. "What are you?" he cooed, his arm reaching forward to grasp the tiny thing he'd found. “A small creature to play with? To pounce, to paw, to...palate, purrhaps?”

He swiped for it playfully, the small firey-headed entity dodging and scrambling away from his fingers and situating itself behind the lounge. Tarrant, only more amused as the creature fled, began his hunt, not worrying where the thing went. He let out a bemused and breathy chuckle as his eyes glimpsed it again. “Your legs can’t carry you for long…” he muttered with a grin.

As the creature ran, Tarrant began to note its direction back into the kitchen, and he carefully cantered over as the fae disappeared. 

 

Arden’s face was doused with sweat as he took a break to breathe in. His stomach felt like it had flipped end over end and he knew that getting sick with anxiety wouldn’t be pleasant, especially without any food in his system. “Kal tyva ne…” he hissed. 

His senses kicked back into overdrive in seconds, though, as he heard a creak in the floorboards on the other side of the island counter. I have to get out of here… he thought sternly. But where do I do that?

His eyes widened, remembering the mouse from earlier. “There has to be a hole somewhere nearby, then…” he whispered to himself.

Arden sidled along the bottom of the island, scanning the room for any means of escape, when he spied the mousehole from around the corner of the counter. He bit his lip; this was his only chance. He didn’t hear anymore creaking though, so after looking around, he blindly ran for it.

A foot crashed down in front of him, close enough to almost kill him. His direction changed quickly, avoiding the feline man, but he wasn’t fast enough, and two fingers gripped at one of his legs. He yelled in pain as the pressure hit his ankle and fumbled for his dagger. But as he located the holster, he found it blank.

The gaze of the man’s uncovered green eye pressed into Arden’s body as though he were a bug under a microscope. The chill that ran down the fae’s spine began to seep into his veins as well, his blood running cold just like the first time he’d been captured.

“What’s the matter?” the young man asked, grinning wide enough to expose a set of fanged dentures. “Something on your mind?”

Arden stiffened up. “Juv mia kovalet do--”

“If you think I won’t be able to understand you, you have another thing coming for you,” the feline spoke, raising his eyepatch to reveal a dull purple hue of an eye. Arden swore it glinted a bit, and he felt himself slipping into a numb state. 

“Ugh, yer creepy…” he muttered, shaking himself awake.

“Why are you here, intruder?” 

Arden raised an eyebrow. “Me? Intruder? Puh-lease! No one would like me would wander in here on purpose.”

“Then how did you get here?” the young man asked.

“The bottle yer friend had, how else? I got sold by some crazy merchant with freaky magic powers, shook around… ugh, I feel sick…”

The young man’s pupils narrowed to a normal state again, and his face flushed up. “Can I help you in any way?”

“Well, you could, I dunno… PUT ME DOWN?” Arden snarked.

The man looked around before allowing Arden to tumble onto a countertop. “Oy, could ya have bruised me any more?” he yelled. The boy gave him an awkward grin. 

“Sorry…”

Arden started to feel sick to his stomach again, and his belly groaned in protest. Embarrassed, he piped himself up a bit. “Hey, uh… kid? Do ya have anything to stave off hunger? I haven’t had anything for at least a day and…”

The ’s eyes widened in surprise, and he turned to face the fae. “How long were you in that bottle?”

“A day, at least. I’m surprised I’m still standing.” His legs buckled, and he fell against the countertop with a fwump. “Scratch that last bit, I’m weak as all hell right now…”

The boy hurriedly and clumsily grabbed a bit of bread from the breadbox on another counter and set it down next to the exhausted fae. “I’m surprised you’re still conscious… no food, no water? I don’t think I could last that long…”

Arden struggled to pick himself up as he brought the food to his lips. The scent was fresh and warm, as though it had to have been made a few hours ago at best. He couldn’t tell if it was made with something extra, but it tasted buttery and soft. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until it was gone, and it was gone within a minute.

“Hungry little fella, aren’t you?” the feline man asked.

“I’m not little, everything around me is huge, that’s all,” he muttered. 

“Is that so?” the young man asked, opening a drawer under one of the counters and fumbling around. “Well, if you don’t want me calling you that, what should I call you?”

“Arden. My name’s Arden.”

“Peculiar name. I can’t say I’ve heard it before.”

“It means ‘joyous’. It’s a foreign name.”

“Ah, okay.” The young man held a small thimble upon his pinky. “You want a drink?”

“Sure,” Arden replied. “So what do people around here call ya?”

“Tarrant,” the young man muttered, trying to find the bottles of water, wine, and rum. “Do you want water? Alcohol?”

“I don’t know much about alcohol, so maybe water would be better,” the fae replied. He looked around the counter and, after gaining a bit more strength, stood up. Around him were various bottles and vials which cluttered the island counter. A few papers were scattered along the corner, but other than that, the only other things he could identify were a mortar and pestle and a chopping block. As he turned around to glance at the clutter behind his view, he spied a beaker filled with a clear liquid. “Actually scratch that,” he said, walking up to it. “I think I found somethin’ ta drink.”

“Did I miss a bottle over th--” Tarrant froze up but turned around before the terror set in. Arden had his hand in a beaker he’d left from earlier. “Arden, get your hand out of there! That’s not water!”

Arden smiled. “Relax, it’s not doing anything bad!”

“That’s hydrochloric acid.”

Arden yanked his hand out of the liquid, a stringy trail of substance dripping from the edge of the glass to his hand. It was a goldish hue and was a bit slimy. “Ugh, what’s this?”

Tarrant frantically put the thimble full of water down on the counter and grasped Arden gently in his hand. “Are you hurt?”

“No, but there’s this substance comin’ off of me… it feels weird…”

Tarrant squinted and touched it before rubbing his fingers together, and Arden could tell he was noticing something. “That’s a basic substance…”

“Did I do that?” Arden asked, wiping his hand on the edge of Tarrant’s sleeve.

“I guess so. Must be a defense mechanism, secreting a base to neutralize acid. That’s... actually something pretty neat. Did you know about it?”

“No, I didn’t…” Arden said as he was set down on the counter again. “Yer… really cheery about this, aren’t you?”

“I’m a chemist, of course this is interesting to me!” Tarrant replied, setting the water thimble closer to the fae. “Making medicines and concoctions is sort of my thing.”

Arden picked the thimble up and took a sip. “But why? Ya seem like someone who would be into somethin’ like spyin’ on people, what with the creepy eye.”

“I do spy on people with both of my eyes, but that’s a whole other mess.”

“I can’t run away, so I guess I’m all ears, so long as ya don’t eat me.”

“Tarrant laughed, his eyes squinting with enthusiasm. “Knowing that you have a basic property completely throws the idea of eating you out the window, Arden. I might look vicious, but you know… all bark, and no bite.”

Arden was silent for a moment.

Tarrant became flustered. “Was is something I said?”

“Well, tell the story!” Arden demanded with a jabbing jest.

“Alright, alright,” the young feline said, walking across the room to drag a chair to the counter. He pointed to his left eye. “I’ll tell you how this one turned purple.”

 

\--------------------------------------

 

Mikael strolled out into the woods, and while he seemed to be aimlessly meandering, his footsteps clacked softly with a sense of purpose. His back was straightened as a gentleman would normally walk, with an elegance that rose above the background of an otherwise foreboding woodland area.

He dug his left hand into his pocket and pulled out a brass and silver watch, flipping it open to reveal that it was fifteen minutes past the time his correspondent was to arrive. He didn’t even know why he bothered going so deep into the woods if nobody was going to show up.

A gust blew through the starlit trail, rustling the branches and causing Mikael to pull his long blue coat a tad closer as he returned his pocketwatch to its place. The gentle and darkened forest only made him more on edge at this time of dusk, especially with what the future might bear. 

“Like cogs in a machine,” he whispered to himself in scornful satire. “Where the hell are you…”

“I’ve been sitting in the tree for ten minutes. Are you blind?” a wispy voice replied.

Mikael jumped a bit as the figure appeared from the tree, almost like a figure appearing from smoke. It was unsettling seeing someone hide in plain sight. The lower portion of their face was covered in a cloth that obscured their mouth, and their sleek armor made their movements slick and filled with an air of unease. “How long have you been waiting to do that to me?”

“Well, you’re old, so I figured you’d get a heart attack this time,” the figure replied, her voice sweetly resounding against his unimpressed scowl. 

“I’m not that old, Seremina, I’m in my forties.”

“And I’m not stupid, Mr. Droscemmel,” the young woman replied. “You should know better than to lie to me.”

“Alright, a bit older,” Mikael said, avoiding eye contact, “but you get my point. I look about 24 ronds old, I only feel forty at best. The veil here is beginning to make my knees buckle.”

“You look fine presently, so is your illness another lie or an excuse to lumber around?”

“My apprentice found a medicine that worked… for now.”

“Is that what you call him? I hear he’s been sleeping with every woman who’ll have him.” Seremina took a jab at the gentleman’s side. “Let’s face it, you’re probably in on it just as much as him,” she jested.

Mikael’s brow fidgeted a bit in frustration. “What makes you think that?”  
he muttered, annoyed by her comment.

Seremina put her hands on her hips. “You make your involvement sound like a bad thing. I wouldn’t mind another night, if you were up for--”

“I’m not interested,” Mikael sternly replied. “Now is neither the time nor place to even think about such fickle and waning affections.”

Seremina snorted through her nose. “By the Six, look at you! Getting embarrassed over something so benign.”

“Will you stop messing around? I came out here to know your progress,” the gentleman hissed.

“Well, if you’re gonna keep that tone with me, Mr. Hissyfit, then you can’t forget it.”

Mikael stepped forward with a grip around his cane and locked his eyes with the woman. She stared right back at him, her glower showing no fear of him. He muttered to himself before loosening his grip and breathing out a defeated “hmph”.

“There we go.” The woman sighed. “Alright, so the boy that I’ve been keeping my eye on is just about ready. All we need is a plan to get him to your Headquarters.”

Mikael sighed. “What is his personality like?”

“He’s a young dreamer, Mikael. You know the type. Wants to be one thing, unwilling to change his mind. He’s naive, and not very passionate for anyone…” Seremina glanced away.

Mikael’s eyebrow raised up a bit. “He’s gained affections for you, hasn’t he?”

“We don’t talk about it!” she replied, staring don’t at her hands. “If he knew how many times I’d done terrible deeds…”

“Your gift is a blessing, dear,” Mikael replied. “Cherish it. It’d be more appreciation than Tarrant is getting from his eye. How much longer do you suppose we have until he’s ready?” He put a hand on her shoulder, and smiled, leaning down to touch her cheek. 

She gulped and hesitated. “He’ll... be ready tomorrow. Again, all we need is a plan. A place to meet with him alone, or maybe an ambush.”

“An… ambush?” Mikael asked. “You’re willing to endanger your village for an ambush?”

“I can make it work. If I endanger myself, and the boy comes after me, then I can lead him to you. When the moment is right… catch him.”

Mikael grinned. “You know me all too well…” he chuckled. “If that is our plan, I will see you tomorrow at sundown.”

“No, that’s too early. Meet me at starwake, when the Flame of Satsoril is brightened.”

Mikael nodded and leaned in, his hot breath tickling her neck, a twinge of alarm coming to Seremina’s face from his closeness. “As you wish,” he whispered breathily into her ear, a smirk coming to his face, lingering in the flush of Seremina’s cheeks even after Mikael had faded into the moonless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that chapters take some time to write, and that this is mostly due to schoolwork as well as a lacking motivation to finish anything. I will try my best.
> 
> This was intended on going a totally different direction, but nope! It's this way for a reason, and it'll stay like this.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original work. Copyright 2015 under Madalyn Adams. Credit must be given if using any portion of the story or characters for inspiration.


End file.
